


From Afar

by johnwatso



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Epistolary, M/M, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8642200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnwatso/pseuds/johnwatso
Summary: John is back at Baker Street, and there are many, many things that need to be spoken about but, true to their fashion, they just can't seem to find the words. Writing helps.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fattyfat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fattyfat/gifts).



> To my best momther [Pear](http://pearlock.tumblr.com), for her birthday. I hope I do our sons some justice.  
> 

_ Dear John _

_ It’s nearing 3am and you’re soundly asleep upstairs while I’m sat at the kitchen table, having abandoned my latest failed experiment. It seems as though so many things are failing these days, and yet we press on, don’t we? We press on because that’s what broken men seem to do. We do that we have to until we can do no more. And that’s why I’m writing this to you. _

_ We find it difficult, this sort of thing. You and I, we’ve never been particularly verbose, have we? Which is why I’ve decided to put pen to paper. I know it must seem trite, but I feel that we should communicate in some way. You’ve been back at Baker Street for almost three months now, and yet the silence that seems to have forced its way upon us - not always that uncomfortable, mind you, but rather inconvenient - still will not abate.  _

_ There are so many things I’d like to say to you. Such as, “I’m sorry.” I truly am sorry, John. For all of it. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I hate seeing the lines of mourning etched so clearly upon your already grief-riddled face and knowing that I was, in no small part, a contributing factor. That, even indirectly, I played a role in causing you pain.  _

_ There are, of course, other things. Less pressing things. They still need to be said, yes, but their lack of urgency considerably outweighs the risk of expressing them for now. We will, I suspect, muddle through, eventually.  _

_ For now, though, I bite my tongue and bide my time. We will come to these things soon enough. _

_ Sherlock _

 

*******

 

Sherlock

Thank you for your letter. 

I hope you know that I mean it when I say that you have absolutely nothing to apologise for. In the end, I somehow always imagined I’d be back here, even when I was “happily” married (a fact I feel endless guilt for, mind). 

Because, at the end of the day, this is  _ home _ . I suspect, now that you’ve been away for a bit, you might understand what I mean by that. Home is not only a place, but a feeling, an instinct, a… person. 

I appreciate you not wanting to delve into things unsaid at this point but, given the way we’re currently communicating, don’t you think it may be easier to do so? It’s just that, with everything that’s happened, I understand, now more than ever, the value and weight of time. The preciousness of people and of saying what you mean before it’s too late. 

I eagerly await your response.

John


	2. Chapter 2

_ Dear John _

_ Although I am, admittedly, not a fan of Brahms, I have always been oddly drawn to his  _ Alto Rhapsody _. The work was written in 1869, as a wedding present for Robert and Clara Schumann’s daughter, Julie. According to popular lore, Brahms was long infatuated with Julie, but was forced to give up on this upon learning of her engagement to another man. The text, as well as the music itself, is quite beautiful. Taken from Goethe’s “Harzreise im Winter”, it speaks to an antisocial man who, despite his egoism, must find a way to ease his pain through spirituality. My favourite part comes from the second stanza: _

_ Ach wer heilet die Schmerzen / Alas, who will heal the suffering  
_ _ des, dem Balsam zu Gift ward? / of one for whom balm has become poison? _

_ You see, John, although you speak of the “preciousness of people and of saying what you mean before it’s too late”, these things, while true, could be an anathema to a relationship. Particularly a friendship.  _

_ I often wonder if Brahms ever expressed his feelings to Julie Schumann, or if he simply let his music speak for itself. I wonder, too, what Julie Schumann would have said back. Whether she would still have married her suitor, knowing how Brahms felt. Perhaps she just didn’t love him in the same manner that he loved her. _

_ After all, there is no music composed by Julie Schumann ever gifted to Johannes Brahms. _

_ Sherlock _   
  


*******   
  


Sherlock

I know you’re not one for poetry, but I’ve always been somewhat of a literary glutton, as you know. One of my favourites of all time has got to be by A. E. Housman. It’s a short little poem called “He would not stay for me, and who can wonder?” It, like many of Housman’s other poems, was written about the love of his life, Moses Jackson, who he roomed with at Oxford. Although Jackson was only ever interested in being Housman’s friend, and was soon married, when Housman learned that Jackson was dying of cancer, he made sure to finish the poems to be included in his final collection and sent them to his friend. Jackson responded with a letter in which he passingly mentioned that he was going through financial difficulty. Housman, of course, replied immediately, insisting that Jackson have some of the royalties from his book, saying, “Why not rise superior to the natural disagreeableness of your character and behave nicely for once in a way to a fellow who thinks more of you than anything in the world?  You are largely responsible for my writing poetry and you ought to take the consequences.”

Unfortunately, Jackson died before receiving this final letter. Upon his death, Housman wrote a letter to a mutual friend, in which he expressed that he could then die himself, as, “I could not have borne to leave him behind me in a world where anything might happen to him”. He also published the poem, which goes as follows:

He would not stay for me; and who can wonder?  
    He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.  
I shook his hand and tore my heart in sunder  
    And went with half my life about my ways.

So, unlike Julie Schumann and Brahms, I’m quite certain that Moses Jackson was aware of Housman’s infatuation, yet chose to marry anyway. I’m also certain that, on his deathbed, he thought constantly of his dear friend, wondering what could have been.

We don’t speak in music and poetry, you and I. In fact, we hardly speak at all. 

I wish we would, though.   
  
John


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear John_

_We don’t speak at all, you’re right, but I wonder how much of that is a conscious decision on both of our parts in order to preserve something - even a dying thing._

_Moses Jackson was aware of Housman’s infatuation yet chose to marry anyway._

_This was not cruelty, per se. You see, he didn’t feel the same way, and it must have put incredible strain on their relationship, that sort of unrequited declaration. One might almost feel sorry for Moses Jackson when one thinks about it that way._

_What’s more important than speaking, I think, is holding onto that which you have, however little it is, in order to ensure that you are able to count on at least one constant in this ever-changing life._

_So we don’t speak at all. That’s alright. For now, at least, it’s enough. Because we have cases and rubbish telly and your inane blogging and my experiments and cups of tea and shared laughter._

_I think that’s worth everything in the world, John. I really do._

_Sherlock_

 

*******

 

Sherlock

Moses Jackson was a fucking idiot. Sorry, but he was. Imagine missing out on something. Imagine missing out on the greatest thing.

I know you always complain that I am one, but I don’t want to be  that kind of an idiot. Not anymore. I’ve wasted far too much time already.

If you’re saying you wouldn’t like us to speak about things because it would put too much strain on our friendship, then I can’t agree with you. Not anymore. There comes a time when, even though a friendship could mean everything in the world, the heaviness of things unsaid becomes too much to bear.

So, I propose we do it. Say whatever it is we need to say. It could turn out terribly and then we’d have a laugh about it at some point in the future or… Or it could pose an improvement on our current situation.

What do you say?

John

 

*******

 

_Dear John_

_Alright._

_Sherlock_


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock

I’m so sorry if I’ve misunderstood or misstepped somewhere. Last night, when I said what I said, I really didn’t expect for it to go that way. I fear I’ve really mucked it up. If you want to just be friends, that’s okay. It really is. 

Please speak to me.

John

 

*******

 

Sherlock

It’s been two days since I told you I loved you, and you still won’t even look at me (not that you’re ever home anyway).

I’m sorry if I was being presumptuous when I kissed you. I didn’t mean to startle you. I really thought that I was doing the right thing, at the time. I certainly didn’t expect you to walk out right after you kissed me back.

If you don’t want to speak to me, at least tell me that you’re alright.

John

 

*******

 

Sherlock

Eight days. I miss you.

John

 

*******

 

Sherlock

I don’t know what you’re thinking, but that isn’t the problem; not exactly. The problem is that I’m afraid I’ve done something wrong. I know I’ve hurt you in the past, but I really thought we could move on. Move forward. If I was out of line, tell me so. I’d rather you punch me in the face than go on ignoring me. Please, Sherlock. I can’t.

John

 

*******

 

Sherlock

I’ve barely seen you in the last three weeks and I’m starting to worry.

If you’d like me to move out, I will.

Just say the word and I’ll leave.

John

 

*******

 

_Dear John_

_There’s no need for you to leave._

_Sherlock_

 

*******

 

Sherlock

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or think. The most you’ve said to me in the past month is “I’m going out”. 

I know that I’ve gotten the wrong impression, but if you didn’t want to hear “I love you” out of my mouth, then what  did you want?

What did you think | was going to say, Sherlock? What were we dancing around (barely, might I add) in our letters if not that?

Where did I go wrong?

John

 

*******

 

Sherlock

Sod this, I don’t think I went wrong at all. 

The letters, the suggestive staring, the lingering touches.

That’s just not the way that friends behave.

How was anything I said a surprise to you at all? You’re supposed to be a bloody genius, aren’t you?

John


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear John_

_There are many topics on which I am quite well-versed. For example, I have a profound knowledge of chemistry, I play the violin well, I’m an expert singlestick player, boxer and swordsman and I have an accurate, if unsystematic, knowledge of anatomy._

_Other areas of interest in which I have a little bit of knowledge are botany (although I know nothing about practical gardening, I am very well up in belladonna, opiums and all poisons in general), geology (as you know, I can distinguish different soils from each other just by glancing at them and I can tell what part of London a splash on a trouser comes from just by colour and consistency) and British law._

_In areas such as literature, philosophy and astronomy, I am extremely weak, and would venture to say that I know - or rather, I have retained - almost nothing._

_But, even lower than that on the scale of things I’m knowledgeable about is sentiment. Love. I understand none of it and, truth be told, I’ve never had to. There has never been anyone who told me that they loved me. I’m not sore about it, mind you, it’s just a fact. I’ve never loved anyone, either, so what good would it have done to fill up my Mind Palace with information on the topic? All I know about love is that it causes people heartache and alters their behaviour in such a way that they may even go to the extent of committing a crime for it._

_I don’t understand love at all, even though I feel it. Have done for quite some time. I love you, John. This isn’t a secret or a revelation. I told you so - at your very own wedding._

_I’ve always known you loved me, too, but just not in the same way. I’m your best friend, as you said. And I’ve been very willing to live on that - on those sparse yet tasty crumbs of love - for a long time now._

_I did know what you were going to say, yes, but I didn’t know what my reaction would be. What I didn’t know - couldn’t know, really, until the fact - was that I couldn’t bear to accept it._

_I can’t bear to be your consolation, John. I can’t bear for you to kiss me because you think that’s what I want, or because she’s gone and I’m all that remains._

_I was content to love you from afar and I’m content to do it now. Would rather do it, in fact, than live with the knowledge that your love has been gifted to me out of pity or necessity._

_Because for me to fulfill the role of someone to keep the space in the bed beside you warm at night is impossibly too much to even contemplate. I thought I might be able to do it, but I was wrong._

_I can live with heartache and pain and loss, but I couldn’t live with that._

_Please, John, don’t make me._

_Sherlock_


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock

Believe me when I say that my heart is broken. Not because you won’t speak to me or even because you may not want to be with me in the way that I want to be with you, but because you actually believe the things you wrote in your last letter.

I don’t understand how you can glance at me before ever having spoken to me and know my whole history, warts and all, but never realise how hopelessly in love with you I was. Am. 

I meant what I said. I love you, Sherlock. Not because you’re all that’s left or because I’m lonely. I loved you before any of that was true. I loved you even when I thought you wouldn’t have me. I loved you when I thought you were a raving lunatic who I happened to have a flatshare with. I loved you. I do love you. I will love you. Nothing you say or think can alter that.

I believe you when you say you have no knowledge of love, because for you not to see the adoration I’ve carried for you for all these years is astounding to me. Most people see it right away. Even Mary asked me about it once. A little while after you came back from being not dead, we were settling in for the night, and, out of nowhere, she turned to me and asked me if I was in love with you. Of course, I stuttered and hammered on that I wasn’t, but I think she knew I was lying. Irene knew it, too. She was actually the one to help me realise what I’d been denying since the day we met - that we were a couple, even if not in the traditional sense. 

Love is not always easy for me either. Even though I’ve had tons of experience with relationships and, yes, sex, I haven’t had that much with love. I’ve loved a few people in my life, but I can honestly say that none of them came anywhere near to what I feel about you. You’re different. You’re everything.

Sherlock, we fit together. Before you, I was floating through life, untethered without even knowing it. I can’t even say that I was a shell of a man, because the word shell implies something empty. I wasn’t empty. I was full of the things that life had thrown my way - grief, rejection, trauma, loss. It all changed for me the very day I moved in to Baker Street, and I know you must know that. You must have some awareness that, before you, the barrel of my gun was something that lulled me to sleep at night, knowing that I had an escape plan and being relieved that I might someday have the courage to use it.

It’s not that you saved my life, because I know that people can’t save other people, not like that. It’s that you were a light in the utter darkness. I finally had hope. I had a reason to wake up in the morning where before, there was only nothingness. Part of that was the Work, but a good portion of it was you. Always you.

You say you’d rather love me from afar than accept that my love for you is out of pity or necessity. I propose you do neither. I might never be eloquent enough to express how deeply I love you, but I have to insist that you throw away the notion that the way I feel for you would ever have arisen out of any of those things. 

Let me love you, Sherlock. I promise to do my very best. I promise not to hurt you ever again if you promise to let me in. Let’s give it a try. After all this time, I’d say we deserve it. Wouldn’t you?

John


	7. Chapter 7

_Dear John_

_It has been a month. Exactly four weeks (and one day) since I read your letter and you came home from work and I met you at the top of the stairs and I kissed you and you kissed me back._

_One month is a fairly long time, by my estimation. True, I’ve never had a relationship of any traditional sort, so I may not understand how any of it works, but one month seems to me to be long enough for a relationship to… develop._

_Since that kiss, we touch more than ever, yes. You stroke my curls back from my face when you say good morning and I put my hand to the small of your back when I need to show you something at a crime scene and you sometimes even drop a chaste kiss to the top of my head before you turn in for the night but, other than that, nothing._

_I understand that I may not be the most desireable of men but, forgive me if I’m wrong, I thought you found me attractive? You did, at least, indicate that, on numerous occasions._

_And so I’d like to know: why won’t you touch me like you know I long to be touched by you? Why won’t you kiss me like we did that day? Why won’t you let me undress you and take you into my mouth, wet and hot and all for you?_

_I was under the impression that, when two people becomes something more than friends - that is, when they profess their love to one another - things blossom between them. Kissing and biting and sucking and… more…_

_If there is something that I have misunderstood, feel free to inform me. I suppose I am wont to misunderstand things when it comes to situations such as these._

_Sherlock_

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me @johnwatso](http://johnwatso.tumblr.com)


End file.
